


devolution

by FullMetamorphosis, skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: The Tragic Tale Unfolding [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Men Crying, One-Sided Attraction, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, angst as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetamorphosis/pseuds/FullMetamorphosis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dark. Everything was a dark haze that poured through his body, and then he was pitching forward, and slumping over the controls without anything said, mind drifting off into an expanse of blank thoughts."</p><p>Or, the one in which everyone is affronted by their emotions all too suddenly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	devolution

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for rough characterization. TJ (fullmetamorphosis) wrote Obi-Wan and the sisters. Haiden (klismaphilia) -wrote Anakin and Ahsoka. Hopefully it turned out well.

Ahsoka was never exactly the most levelheaded Jedi. She figures that it’s part of the reason she gets along so well with Anakin- not mentioning the obvious irritability they both share, or the occasional tendency to be abrasive when it isn’t needed, but because they seem to understand each other. Which is why it’s visibly evident to her that something’s wrong with him.

 

It’s probably because her master has come back from every mission in the last few weeks looking completely dazed, his eyes wide open and barely looking at her. The way he seems to gaze right through people is uncanny, and almost disturbing. Not because it’s some sort of horrifying thing, but because it’s… worrisome, in an entirely different way.

 

She mentions it to Obi-Wan, who seems to shove it off when he finds Anakin speaking amiably (although the undertones of his voice are anything but pleased, the obvious flare of his temper seeming to make itself known in everything he does,) with Rex. He claims it’s just ‘Anakin being Anakin’.

 

He obviously doesn’t notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, or the way his head dips, falls and tucks to his chest during a meeting.

 

She stumbles upon him by accident one day, leaning against the side of his attack cruiser, hand pressed against the metal and eyes trained solely on a clone trooper whom seems rather frightened.

 

“There’s  _ nothing  _ to be seen. I’m fine. If everyone would just leave me alone for kriffing once. I know what I’m doing- or do you want another General? Is that it? Perhaps I should call Obi-Wan for you. I’m sure you’d prefer the ‘poster boy of the light’ over a  _ failure  _ like me.”

 

“That’s not what I was saying, sir. The troops have-”

 

“The troops? Or you? I’m  _ fine.  _ You can believe me on that.” And then he’s pushing away from the cruiser and making his way back toward the barracks, rubbing frantically at his eyes as though he’s overwhelmed by tiredness.

 

Ahsoka wants to run over to him. Say something like,  _ hey, Skyguy, everyone can tell something’s up and I’m worried about you. And you know I’m not one to worry, so why don’t you tell me what’s up? Because I’m getting tired of this bantha hork, and I’ve counted, and you haven’t slept in at least a week.  _

 

Another thought strikes her.  _ The troops are going to ask Obi-Wan to tell the council to ground him if this keeps up.  _ And it’s more worrisome than Anakin’s issues that seem to just be building and building, making him so agitated she isn’t surprised people are trying to avoid him. But she knows how badly he’d take it… and hell if she isn’t worried about it.  _ He’s pushing himself too kriffing hard!  _

 

And then she sees Obi-Wan, making his way through the hangar in the opposite direction. And trying to shield the anxiety threatening to overwhelm her, Ahsoka puts the worry into the back of her mind and runs after him.

* * *

 

Three council meetings.

 

Well, if he was being more specific, they were just three meetings in which the council  _ had _ to be involved. First an alliance that was going sideways, where he and Windu would have to talk to  _ five leaders of a single planet _ to try and get things back up and running, and then following was a general council meeting, specifically about battle tactics and the new leads that cropped up day by day.

 

And then he was teaching. Teaching eleven-year olds, to be exact.  _ By the gods _ . It wasn’t that he disliked children, it was that they took up so much  _ energy _ . What evidence they had of the Force was wild and unpredictable, like the stretching of woven cloth in far too many directions for it to bear a single load. Surely he could take that on a normal day, but with everything else? Not like this. Not easily, at least.

 

“Patience”, Master Yoda had told him, “Is cultivated in the mind  _ and _ the body, through time.”

 

“Is that a lesson for the children?” he asked. “Or me?”

 

Yoda had simply shaken his head with that unreadable little grin and floated off.  _ Kriff _ , for as much as he admired Master Yoda, there were times where his patience was well-tested indeed. It boiled under the surface of his skin, just like every other emotion he possessed: anger, sadness, worry. Hate.

 

Love.

 

And all of that he has to push down again when he hears the footsteps behind him, all too familiar and all too much, when he’s only just walking away from the council meeting and towards the tiny classroom hardly enough to fit so many tugs and ties of the force. “Ahsoka,” is all he greets without turning. “If you wish to speak, you will have to follow. I’m afraid I have little time for interruption.”

 

“Master Kenobi,” she greets him swiftly, with a brusque nod of her head. Her lips seem to be fixed in place, unable to say what she wants to, uncertain of how to address the situation. If it was something normal- something with the clones or the council, there wasn’t any doubt that she’d be blunt. Perhaps abruptness wasn’t always the best route to take, but it seemed to get the job done quickly.

 

That was something Anakin had always understood. Not like the other masters, who prattled on with their philosophical mumbo jumbo that she rarely had the patience to follow completely. It was too easy to tune out- although that usually meant more effort in trying to work around things and figure something out for herself. 

 

“It’s about Anakin,” she says finally, deciding to approach the situation without hiding anything- aside from the worry in her tone. The anxiety is getting to her head, the way her breath seems to falter so often anymore. Ahsoka doesn’t think it should be as troubling as it often is- that she shouldn’t be as troubled, always feeling like there’s a certain impending doom, or something weighing her body down in battle. 

 

She ignores it, and proceeds. “He isn’t sleeping- and… I think he may have… started again. You know before, after Zan Arbor and Omega… he told me about it. He’s been irritable, keeps shouting at everyone. It isn’t stress, Obi-Wan! I know it isn’t- I’ve talked to him and he hardly responds the way he used to. I’m just… worried it’s going to have a worse impact than it already is.”

 

_ Started again _ . The words alone are enough to shake him, though it’s just another thing he can hide, buried deep under the layers of emotion tied up at the base of his spine.  _ Started again _ . He . . . he remembers. Doesn’t want to remember, not now - but he remembers regardless. Remembers enough to understand what Ahsoka is trying to tell him.

 

And he’s not ignoring her - that’s for sure. He’s sure she thinks he is, that he’s been brushing it off, but . . . it’s just another thing he’s hiding away under the layers of rough wool and hemp and skin. Something  _ is _ wrong. Anakin hasn’t been talking to him, has been near silent during his examinations, hasn’t even bothered arguing with him like he normally does. When he  _ does _ argue, it’s far more . . . bitter. Accusing, demeaning, and he won’t admit that it pains him more than Skywalker would ever see. But what was he to do about it, bring it up with the council?  _ He’s the chosen one _ . He has enough issues with withholding his emotions as it is.

 

That’s the crux of it. That’s why there’s no point in bringing up a thing.  _ It’s no change from the problems the council has addressed before _ . He’s not sure how to address that with her, how to make Ahsoka see. Bringing it up again would only cause trouble, cause more reprimands on Anakin’s back . . . just make him more angry.

 

“Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to the dark side of the Force.”

 

Continuing to address it would only push him farther towards the edge.

 

That’s the  _ last thing _ Obi-wan can allow to happen.

 

Ahsoka’s slowing down. He hasn’t spoken a word, and they’re approaching the classroom as is - a place he’s sure she hasn’t been in years. Yet, even as she remains a step behind him, he simply wraps an arm over her shoulder and pulls her along, into the room with a billion children, all with Force energies bouncing over the walls. He tries to tune them out the best he can. Simply crosses the room to the corner, and helps slide himself between Ahsoka and the children.

 

If she wants to explain, then he has to block her from the worst of the chaotic mess in this classroom.

 

“You should understand there is little I can do, Padawan,” he says softly, keeping his expression as neutral as he can. “But I do understand, and I am not ignoring you. Unless you have a suggestion, my room to act is limited, even insofar as acting towards my own padawan.”

 

_ My room to act is limited.  _ Ahsoka isn’t sure why the sentence makes her bristle, almost overwhelmed by anger… perhaps fear. She can hardly tell the difference between the two these days, but underneath it, there’s that sense of agony, loathing…  _ responsibility.  _ She owes it to Anakin- doesn’t Obi-Wan see that he does as well? There isn’t… she can’t understand it.

 

It’s the Jedi way. And because of that, the code nearly makes her sick- it always has, always portrayed things that she couldn’t quite come to grips with. She was standing on the cusp of it, enough that everything had gone greyscale.

 

“I understand,” she responds ruefully, biting her lip. Ahsoka can’t help but reach out, the pain seeping into the force, too much too soon. There isn’t any means of covering it up as she turns away and storms from the room, with a quick, “Goodbye, master.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Snips.” It’s the first thing that Anakin seems to say when he sees Ahsoka, a sense of clarity settling in that hadn’t been there before as he folds his arms across his chest and blinks a few times to adjust to the light. It’s always too bright outside, always too much to handle anymore- not only for his eyes, but his mind, trying to come to grips with thoughts that slip away as soon as they come.

 

“What was that?” Ahsoka asks, because she can still see the plan on the board, but Anakin’s rambling to the troops had made as little sense to her as it had to them, his mouth moving too quickly, too much to adjust to. It only seemed like he was impatient, overly eager, even. “I talked to Cody and he was just as confused as I was. Are you sure-”

 

“It’s nothing, Ahsoka. Seriously,” Anakin offered her a light smile, but there was a haze that had settled somewhere, something he couldn’t seem to get past. It was almost… rage. Rage at not being understood, not being  _ appreciated,  _ being overlooked.

 

He doesn’t say it. But it practically screams into the force,  _ I am the Chosen One! I am supposed to be someone you look up to! I don’t have a fucking problem. There isn’t any time for this! You don’t understand- nobody understands. I hate them. I hate everyone- you don’t care! All you see is… _

 

_ Weak. _

 

The other half of him is barely able to think. All he seems to be able to focus on is  _ weak.  _ And it isn’t a surprise nobody can stand to listen to him anymore, isn’t a surprise that he’s rotting away like the flesh on his arms, wounded so deeply there isn’t time to cover up the pain that leaks through his bonds whenever it happens.

 

He doesn’t want to speak, but he puts his hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder anyway. “You should be out there with the troops. They need someone strong to take care of them. And hey, you may be a bit of a punk, but I’m not doubting your skills.”

 

“I’m just…” Ahsoka pauses.  _ Worried. Angry. Insecure. Confused.  _ “You’re right- someone’s got to. Don’t let your ability get to your head, though- I don’t want to see you crashing one of those cruisers because you’re so tired.”

 

“Not that tired,” Anakin protested. “I can handle myself, Ahsoka. You don’t need to worry about me. Everything’s… good. Just get back to the troops- don’t keep Obi-Wan waiting.”

* * *

 

“Etsuko. Misha. Please wait.”

 

The children are filing out - all of the young ones bounding out the door giggling and laughing to each other, their Force spaces spiraling out after them. It’s a relief; the whole class was a range of young ones, from six to twelve, and with all of that pent-up effort completely outside their bodies, it was a headache to manage them. He doesn’t understand how Master Yoda handles them; he expects  _ his _ balance of the Force is simply . . . more experienced. He, unlike Obi-wan himself, knows how to contain himself.

 

But then there’s Etsuko and Misha. Late-bloomers, if there was ever such a thing; eighteen-year old twins, both with dark hair, but varying only in the eyes; Misha had startling jade ones, while Etsuko’s were a calm blue to match her older sister’s. Their Force energies are the easiest to manage, at least now, with them still blossoming from their efforts through teen years . . . it shows. Shows almost too well, in Misha’s case, though they’ll be graduating soon. The change of robes, better to hide their figures, would come soon enough.

 

The only trouble is that both are unique; Misha’s sliding back into the room on socked feet, preforming a little twirl as she stops in front of him, while Etsuko’s third eye gazes at him uneasily as she pauses next to her sister.  _ Bizarre _ . He can’t remember their origins, only that both of them are a touch . . . unbalanced. No wonder their abilities were so late in emerging. At least their elder sister, now on her way to Jedi Master, was a stable one.

 

He takes a deep breath. He hates to use . . .  _ them _ , but if things went well, there should be no harm. If, however, something  _ does _ go wrong . . .

 

They would handle it. He’s sure.

 

“Etsuko, Misha,” he says. “I’m assigning you on a mission, with your elder sister in charge. I understand it’ll be your first mission, but it’ll be nothing for you to worry abou-”

 

“Do we finally get to fly the ships?” Misha blurts out. He pauses, levels his gaze with hers.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“ _ Dammit _ ,” she swears and turns away. Etsuko, however, keeps her gaze steady on him.

 

“What kind of mission is it?” she asks.

 

“One of . . . surveillance. In plain sight, really. See, there is a concern for one of our fellow Jedi, and I need you two to keep an eye on him.”

 

“Will he know our intentions?”

 

“No - but as you’ll be with your sister, you should not be questioned. I promise you, I’ve already set things up. The two of you will be safe . . . I simply need you to mind my instructions. Do not worry,” he gives them an uneasy smile, for once. “Do as you are directed, and there should be no flak for you to face.”

* * *

 

“Anakin, stop being stupid. Council orders. No, stop rolling your eyes. We’re coming with. Are you going to oppose a Jedi Master just to be  _ stubborn _ ?”

 

Anakin rolled his eyes, letting them flit over Natasha’s form, her hands on her hips as she looked at him, lightsaber tucked into the belt around her waist, thumb barely brushing the hilt of it. It honestly seemed like a bit much… a bit too much, only wearing on him, furthering his nagging suspicion that the council had sent them to spy on him.

 

“You seem a little on edge, Kameneva,” he says to her, with a smirk across his lips as he turns away, kneeling once more to finish the tinkering on the cruiser, unwilling to say what exactly he was working on to any of the knights behind him. The eyes on his back were a disturbance at best, frustrating and with a gaze too unwavering to be real.

 

“You see, Natasha, the council never means what they say. They just fabricate things, try to put you in a certain position that you can’t break out of no matter how hard you try. They will disappoint you, in the end… everything disappoints you.” The heat building in his chest is practically explosive, sending ripples of energy through the force, so near to being dark and yet so emotional he can’t help it. Anakin leans back, his eyes struggling to stay open, the wires of the motherboard on the ship crossing in front of his eyes and blending in shades.

 

“Do they not… trust me enough…?” The young knight finally says, his face fixed in a scowl as he tries to pull himself to his feet. “I should’ve known.  _ They don’t trust me.  _ They’re keeping it away from me… keeping everything away from me. They think I’m going to betray them. They’re sick! Everything is fucking  _ sick! I hate them! I hate you-  _ don’t… don’t talk. I’m not going to listen to anything the council says any longer. They’ve always hated me…  _ never wanted me to become a Jedi in the first place.  _ Obi-Wan… he  _ never  _ wanted me.”

 

And then he was tugging himself away and trying not to curl in on himself, trying not to just cry. He felt exhausted, burdened with the pressure of everything around him, uncaring of the clone commanders, the sisters,  _ Ahsoka  _ seeing him break down. It was painful. He was in  _ agony. _

 

“Don’t follow me. I’m heading back to the battlefield. Tell the council to shove it up their ass.”

 

She’s grabbing him by the shoulder before he can walk away. He’s turning to her - looking angry as all  _ hell _ \- but she’s speaking over him anyway. “There’s no need for the temper tantrum,” she points out. “After all, you’re  _ supposed _ to be leading one of the cruisers during the fight. We’re just part of your crew. Think of us as . . . reinforcements.”

 

“Reinforcements with  _ good ass aim _ ,” Misha grins as she exposes her arm and curls it into one of those oh-so-impressing “guns” poses. “We’ve never met, but  _ man _ , you should see me in kriffin’  _ training _ . Man, you’re like a goddamn  _ inspiration _ . How old were you when you flew that cruiser-thing through that Sith base?  _ So fucking awesome _ . I’ve been researching. Gonna kick somebody’s ass with a battle jet at  _ some point _ .”

 

Natasha looks out of the corner of her eye to where, predictably, Etsuko is sighing and covering her face with a hand. “General Skywalker, please ignore my twin,” she says, almost dully. “She’s overeager. This is meant to be our first mission together, is serving you. With our sister, yes, but . . .”

 

“We’re really not coming to babysit you; they’re just distributing numbers,” Natasha pulls back her hand and sighs. “For  _ real _ , Skywalker. My sisters don’t have sabers and I’m shit with flying a ship. We’re being paired with you for a reason, not to  _ spy _ . Besides, you should know how much I  _ hate _ spying.”

 

“She prefers taking the brunt of the attack head-on,” Misha points out, “Instead of watching somebody else take it.” Natasha turns to glare at her sister.

 

“Shut up, Misha. In any case. You’re leading a cruiser, Skywalker. Do we need to lead you to it, or would you rather be a foot soldier instead of flying a ship you’ve half-built  _ yourself _ ?”

 

There’s a hint of weight to her argument, although Anakin admits it ruefully, turning his head to face the cruiser as he tries to shake off the unsteadiness of the implications he’s potentially weaved himself. Telling the difference is difficult enough anymore, and he’s trying to keep himself from pitching over in a dead faint as is.

 

It’s only more weakness. It’s only more that he needs to push through, needs to get over, because they’re counting on him to lead them and all he’s doing is burying everyone in deeper banthashit.

 

But it really doesn’t matter anymore. Obi-Wan had always called him impulsive, and the council had called him reckless, and…

 

“Fine. You two can get to the cruiser over there. Cody can direct you. You…” he pointed to the one who had spoken up rather bluntly, before waving a hand. “Can come with me for now. I finished recalibrating the blaster an hour ago… I…” he tries to muffle the grogginess in his voice. “We need to move out soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was impossible to see. His eyes kept flitting about, trying to catch sight of everything, but there was enough work going into holding back the pain and swallowing his trepidation, even more so, the anger. There was a certain enmity, a lingering thought in the back of his mind that couldn’t be shaken, one that was consuming him every time it edged into his thoughts.

 

And there was nothing in front of him but a blur of colors, green and brown and  _ sand  _ below him, the cruisers nothing more than faint blotches of white around his vision and on the horizon, any voices suddenly lost in his ears. He was shaking- Anakin could feel his hands on the steering mechanism shaking, pulling back at the wrong time, because he could hardly read the panels… what should have been Basic was a completely foreign assortment of symbols, letters he’d never seen…

 

He pulled himself together for the briefest of moments, and it was barely enough to keep everything working. There was blackness seeping in at the corners of his eyes, filling his vision in with static and a shrill ringing in his ears as he tried to force a failed command into his headpiece, simply dropping off into a slur at the inability to hear his own voice. It was unbalanced… unstable…

 

Dark. Everything was a dark haze that poured through his body, and then he was pitching forward, and slumping over the controls without anything said, mind drifting off into an expanse of blank thoughts.

 

_ Nothing. _

 

* * *

 

 

“Misha. What’s your status.”

 

“ _ Yyyeeeaaahh _ , it was just as Master Obiwan figured. He passed out. Like a little angel, too!”

 

“I don’t think he’s that cute, Misha.”

 

“Oh, come on, Etsuko! Stop being such a stuck-up!”

 

“ _ Both of you, stop. _ What’s the status on Skywalker?”

 

“He fell asleep at the wheel. Didn’t give a ton of warning either. So now  _ I _ get to pilot the ship!”

 

“Stay at your position, Misha. We’re coming after you guys. You’re halfway into enemy territory; it’s too dangerous.”

 

“Oh, come on, Natty! At least let me fly the ship back!”

 

“Absolutely not. Obi-wan would kill me.”

 

“Isn’t that a dark side thing?”

 

“The Jedi don’t perform executions, Misha. The Senate, however . . .”

 

“I’m not sure it matters, you two. Now both of you quiet down. Misha, do a one-eighty and fly back into our territory so we can pick you up. We’re heading back to the base with Skywalker before there’s any more casualties. Got it?”

 

“Fine,  _ fine _ . . .”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry to make you wait with me, Ahsoka,” Obi-wan says quietly. He lets her grip his hand as they sit by the side of the dock, watching the distant carriers approach the bay. “They should be here in a few minutes. Hopefully Anakin’s not too hurt, but for as unwieldy as this method is, it’s better this than trying to force the council to take action. Hopefully he’ll be too exhausted to fight us much.”

 

Her eyes were hardly trained on Obi-Wan, only able to hear the dialect of his voice and the suddenness of it, as though he were just as worn down as she was… as Anakin was. Half of her wanted to reach forward and grab hold of her master and shake him to his senses, too worried about what had happened, her breathing shallow and coming in rough spurts as her eyes avert themselves to look at the wall opposite them.

 

It was strange to see him like this… being pulled off the carrier on a cot, his body lying there so limply as the troopers tried to carry him back to the med-bay, avoiding looking at him altogether. It seemed like nobody wanted to look at him- to acknowledge what everyone had known to begin with and been too afraid to admit.

 

He was destroying himself. The men were pulling him into the bay, and before Obi-Wan could say anything, Ahsoka was standing to her feet and rushing to his side, focused solely on his face, turned to the side and more at ease than she’d seen in so long. His cheekbones seemed more hollow, skin too pale and black rimming his eyes, even the veins slightly visible in the dark patches. 

 

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He was out, completely out, and the fear was gripping her. She’d felt the spark in the force- the pain, something she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, and then the sense of something suddenly dropping off, falling away to reveal… nothing.

 

Her heart was beating far too harshly against the inside of her ribcage, sitting on the bench the clones had steered her toward and uncaring when she felt the presence of another being beside her. Her own thoughts were too muddled now, too muddled to begin with, torn between the strictness of the code and the reality of everything that was going on… Ahsoka didn’t know if she could keep doing this.

 

She didn’t know if she could be a Jedi. It felt like they didn’t care, like they never did anything… it was just like when she’d spoken to Barriss, how she’d been able to expose her feelings only with that trepidation they were greeted with. Emotion was overwhelming… it felt… destructive.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Ahsoka confessed, and suddenly, she didn’t feel like blaming anyone anymore. “I don’t know much of anything, it feels like… I knew he was just… spiraling downwards. And I couldn’t do  _ anything.  _ What use is being a Jedi when everything ends up splintering apart in the end regardless?”

 

“I’m not sure I have a good answer for that,” Obi-wan answers with a sigh. He looks up at the Stormtroopers; “Remember, my quarters,” he orders, and they give him an understanding nod. He looks back to Ahsoka for a moment as they leave. She’s completely curled in on herself, consumed by this anxiety; he lets her clasp his hand again, hoping to anchor her, somewhat, before they part ways. After all, they still have their duties and he’s got to take care of his before he goes after Anakin. But if she can’t perform because of her nerves . . .

 

He hears the footsteps and feels the carefully-controlled senses of the Force before he finally looks up. He nods to the Kameneva siblings carefully, trying to keep his expression neutral. “All went well, it seems.”

 

“I GOT TO DRIVE A FUCKING JET,” Misha nearly shouts in the middle of the bay. Etsuko just hides her face in embarrassment as some of the troops look over at the noise, only to shrug it off and look away. Natasha, at least, seems to be the only one with composure.

 

“Anakin passed out within an hour of the fight. He’d crossed into enemy territory, so Misha flew back into our skies and we hatched their ship to ours. I will admit, Misha did a good job; Etsuko as well. She was on the ship checking his vitals the moment we hooked up.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” Obiwan says with a nod and a sigh. “I’m sorry to put you through the trouble.”

 

“I was headed in anyway; better do this than get caught up with all the land bullshit. I’m sick of all the goddamn war,” she shrugs. “At least now he won’t be distracting and compromising the troops. S’all that matters to me.”

 

“He wasn’t  _ compromising  _ anything,” Ahsoka couldn’t contain the frustration at the way the woman spoke so easily about her master. As much as she knew it to be true, Natasha’s words, she didn’t want to admit it- any of it. Not when he was lying there, passed out, practically dead and suffering from… from…

 

_ My failure. _

 

She couldn’t admit it. “I know he was having trouble- more than you know- but you  _ can’t  _ talk about him like that. You don’t  _ know _ him… if anything, he wouldn’t be here now if you all had just forced him to stay back!”

 

She doesn’t know if she means it or not. All Ahsoka knows is that there are tears soaking her cheeks, and that her breath is suddenly gone, and she’s pulling in on herself and sobbing wildly.

 

“Ahsoka,” Obi-wan leans down and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “It’s alright, Ahsoka. I understand; I . . . as well, wish that there had been another option. But you said it yourself - he was distracting the troops, wouldn’t accept anybody’s help. Unfortunately, this was simply something that had to be done.”

 

“And for the record,” Natasha says as she sits down in front of Ahsoka’s feet, with a hand to her knee, “Don’t file me in with ‘you all’ the Council. That goes under the assumption that I’m even  _ part _ of the Council.”

 

“T-the Council…” the girl manages to choke out, the sudden aggression in her body starting with the mention of it. “Never… h-help. I-I don’t want… anything. Don’t know anymore… d-don’t talk to me.” She tries to pull herself to her feet, away from Obi-Wan and away from Natasha, and doesn’t glance back. “Let me go…”

 

Obi-wan’s pulling her back down to sit the same time Natasha does. “Again,” Natasha says, pushing herself up to meet Ahsoka’s eyes, “The Council has  _ nothing _ to do with this. We pulled this off with just him, my sisters, and me.”

 

“I know you aren’t with them, just… I don’t  _ want  _ to talk about this… I’m…” she pauses, sucks in a breath. “I’m just scared.”

 

“I know,” Natasha nods. “This is the sort of thing that makes the Council useless. Anything to do with emotions, at all, they just assume is  _ bad _ . Not that you should be quoting me on that or anything . . . but I do understand why you’re so upset.”

 

“Sister is only a last-resort member,” Etsuko says slowly as she kneels down beside Ahsoka, on the opposite side of Obi-wan. “She has no duty to the Council and only steps in during times of crisis. I’m sure you can imagine why, considering our . . . circumstances.”

 

“Because fuck their stuffy asses!” Misha adds as she slaps Ahsoka’s shoulder and gives her a shake. “I’m with you, Ahsoka; those assholes can go  _ stuff it _ . But hey, we got him back safe, right? You were the one who pushed hard enough to make Obi-whine listen. So hey, why cry? He’s gonna be alright. Of course, that’s thanks to  _ my _ piloting skills.”

 

“Misha,” Etsuko points out, “He would have been fine regardless. We were going to tow back your ship-”

 

“I’m . . . not sure who to thank is meant to be a debate,” Obi-wan says as Misha hangs her head in sudden dejection. “On the subject of debate, however . . . you called your teacher Obi- _ what _ , now?”

 

“ _ Shut up _ ,” Misha says in a similar whine to his nickname. “Ahsoka agrees with me, whiny-butt.”

 

Ahsoka has to cough to muffle the laugh creeping out of her throat at the comment, before shrugging at Misha. “Obi-Wan is a stick in the mud. A total prude as far as Skyguy and I are concerned too.” She barely catches a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s brightening face before she’s just offering a smile to the woman. “But yes. I agree with the nickname. If Anakin was here…”

 

She has to hide the frustration in her voice at that, eyes slipping shut and looking down to her feet as her muscles seem to tense. Ahsoka isn’t sure she really has the words to sum up her feelings- they’re too strong for that, always are. She tries to shake it off, offering another tiny smile to Misha that’s more a quirk of her lips than anything.

 

“I need to see him,” she says, finally, refusing to skim past the elephant in the room any longer, her eyes watering despite how often she tries to brush the tears away. She’s just nodding again to Natasha and Misha and Etsuko, turning her head toward the med-droid humming along through the hall toward them, almost nervous.

 

Before she can stop herself, she’s leaning forward and hugging Misha quickly, pressing her face against the other’s shoulder, almost near her height even when sitting. “I’m sorry for snapping at you guys,” she comments to Natasha, shaking her head. “I don’t know when he’s going to wake up, I just… miss him. Before all of this… before he started to…” she can’t say it. “I’ve been feeling the same way as he has… dark. Like all my energy is just stemming from the anger and the frustration and the anxiety… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

 

_ Dark _ ? Obi-wan finds himself frowning at the admission. It’s no secret that . . . that Anakin is easily tempted by his emotions. The Council always warned against it, fought to keep them at bay.  _ The path to the dark side is through them _ , they always argued, and for the majority of his life, he’s followed that code. But looking at Ahsoka, and how badly Anakin had been affected by everything, just . . . all of it, he’s beginning to wonder. Beginning to wonder if being constantly told to repress it is beginning to wear on both of them.  _ Even on me _ , he thinks - a thought he bats away almost selfishly.

 

“Ahsoka,” Natasha says with a soft, sad smile, “There  _ is _ power that comes from emotion. You know that well, learning under Anakin. But our emotions can do both harm and good. Part of the reason I could never join the Council is because they argue that all feelings are bad . . . and I just can’t accept that,” she shakes her head. “Things aren’t black and white; you don’t have to be a Jedi or be a Sith. There’s neutral ground to follow. And . . . well, sometimes that neutral ground is the easiest to take.”

 

Her words  _ mean _ something. Something . . . reassuring, but also dark, suspicious of intention. He would almost ask, if he thought it would do anything, but . . .  _ she may be right _ , he thinks. He can still feel every emotion welled up in his gut, eating him alive. All of that worry, that pain, that  _ concern _ built up for his student - there was no denying it. The more he did, the more of a wall he feels he builds.

 

There’s danger in it, he knows.

 

But  _ god _ , if he doesn’t want to believe in those philosophies for a minute and just let himself go.

 

* * *

 

 

It was bright, nearly flashing through his consciousness like bolts of energy, lightning that scorched the inside of his eyelids and half pushed Anakin to scream in agony, unable to contain the emotion any longer. His body felt as though it were being weighed down with rocks, pressed into the mattress as the glare filtered through his head further and further.

 

It was nearly desperate, when he finally lunged forward and opened his eyes, bristling, skin tingling and nearly frigid to the touch despite the layer of sweat lining his brow. He was gasping, felt like his eyes were practically bulging enough to pop out of his skull, the pain sinking deeper into his skin and the bloodshot irises, so far he didn't think he could see.

 

His head was spinning, pitching forward further, as though he were about to throw up. There was an overwhelming sensation of despair in his gut, hands clutching tightly to the sheets and knuckles turning white, half ignoring the needles shoved through his skin. The medbay always made him want to scream. Anakin had always hated having people fussing about, poking and prodding him with bantha hork he had no need for…

 

And yet now the only thing he can feel is sadness. Misery. Desperation, even, as the tears build up at the corners of his reddened eyes and dribble down his pallid cheeks, falling onto the stark white sheets thrown over his body haphazardly. The Jedi knight was entirely overwhelmed by it, the intensity of his emotion, the way it echoed through his body with every rise and fall of his chest.

 

And then there were arms reaching out to him and he barely took a second before he was slumping over and into the barely offered embrace without hesitation, unsure of whether that was the intention or not.

 

Obi-wan’s not certain that he’s helping. All he’s doing is kneeling by the side of his own bed, with Anakin’s arms wrapped around him and clinging to him so desperately it’s nearly foreign to him. He was crying - Anakin was, and it’s such an unusual thing, to hear him half-howling with pain, that he wonders if he’s truly hurt, if . . . if he’s in physical pain. But he’s not - can’t be, according to the medic droid - and if he was, Obi-wan would know. He just would.

 

He thinks about everything - how tired he’d been, how depressed he’d seemed, even what Ahsoka had told him about returning to his harmful habits - and Obi-wan isn’t able to hide his own worry from himself anymore. He’s gripping his padawan’s hands, holding them tightly as Anakin cries, face buried against his chest, tears soaking into his tunic.

 

“It’s alright, Anakin,” he says, quietly. “It’s only my room. I didn’t let them take you to the medbay. You only fell asleep. Misha piloted your ship back and I had the troopers bring you here. It’s alright. You’re safe,” he adds, though he’s not sure . . . if he’s helping.

 

The thing is, he’d never had comfort like this offered to him. Nothing tender or caring or . . . or physical. He’d grown up in the temple all his life. The closest thing he’d gotten to affection was from Qui Gon, his mentor, and the only time he’d ever felt close to true pain was watching the life drain from his eyes. He wonders if that must be anything to what Anakin must be feeling now, crying like that, because the only time Obi-wan cried was in that moment, sitting among the dead. It felt so foreign. Somehow, he misses it.

 

It’s so wrong. So wrong to be kneeling on the floor by his bed, with Anakin half-splayed in his own lap, letting him cry against his body in the privacy of his own room. Ahsoka wasn’t even back from duties - he hadn’t even checked his arms, his legs,  _ anywhere _ for the signs he’d recognized as self-harm months before. Oh yes, and that time, too - that time was the closest he’d felt to mixed feelings, like anger and fear and sadness and regret.

 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling now, but all he can think is  _ I’m going to do right by him this time. Not for the Council - for him. And for myself. _

 

Anakin isn't sure what's worse- that he's thinking about how unfair it all is, how everything went so impossibly wrong, how he fucked everything up again and there’s no way of fixing it, or that he's relieved that it's  _ Obi-Wan,  _ and not Ahsoka or Padme. The relief feels unbelievably surreal- the thought that he's taking solace in this, in his former master’s presence, when  _ you never wanted me, you always hated the fact that I had actual kriffing emotions because you had too much of a force damned stick up your ass to understand. _

 

The silence seems to ripple with his thoughts, echoing through the force as Anakin curls in on himself further, swings his legs off the side of the bed and half tumbles to the floor, pulling himself closer and closer to Obi-Wan until he can push his face against the older Jedi's chest and tug his arms around him again, as though it were some sort of protection.

 

It's familiar, in a way, like when he was a child all over again and would climb into Obi-Wan’s bed after having a nightmare, try to cover up the tears soaking his face as the thought of his mother's corpse worked it's way through his mind with each passing second… but the comfort now was nothing like the comfort then, and there was nothing between them but clothing. Obi-Wan was warm, the scent of his skin familiar and welcome… his arms solid and supportive.

 

So Anakin allows himself to cry, allows himself to focus on his feelings for that moment, even though he's half convinced Obi-Wan will jump down his throat over it later.  _ A real Jedi doesn't show emotion or whatever shit they're spouting off now. _ He lets hair fall in his eyes, shuts them tightly again and presses his cheek against fabric. “I can't believe you h-haven’t scolded me yet, old man… the council… ‘S not  _ fair.” _

 

“I understand,” he mutters. Anakin seems to freeze at that, but he doesn’t let him respond; he just tangles his fingers in Anakin’s dark, curlier hair, and presses his face closer against his chest. “I’m right here, Anakin. There’s nobody here but us.”

 

He wonders if he should get somebody - if he’d prefer Ahsoka or Padme here, holding him, instead of . . . well . . . him. But there’s little he can do about it, with Ahsoka back to her duties and Padme occupied with everything else. After all, it’s no secret - at least to Obi-wan’s eyes - that the two of them are married, have been for some time now. He almost wonders what she would say, seeing them like this . . .  _ probably would be unsurprised _ , he thinks, though he doesn’t know her well and isn’t sure he’ll ever, at this rate.

 

Still. He looks down at Anakin and his tear-soaked face. There’s something inside of him that’s blooming almost painfully in his chest, an ache that he’s not sure he can push off right. He doesn’t know a name for it, nothing like . . . like this urge to pull him closer, never let him go . . . he wonders if either of them are hypothermic, or if Anakin is more ill than he once thought.

 

_ Impossible _ , he thinks. But he can at least come up with excuses, right?

 

Obi-wan sighs, and then pauses; he can feel dampness on the back of his robes, sticky where Anakin’s arms press against him. It only serves as another reminder, enough to distract him from his thoughts. He doesn’t even bother to look; he just reaches out with the Force, far enough that he can find the medical kit in his bathroom and begin to gravitate it out and towards his hands.

 

“Sit up, when you can,” he says quietly as he lays the medkit beside him. “I want to see your arm. Have they . . . opened up, again?”

 

Anakin hardly has the mind to hear what Obi-Wan is saying, half ready to ignore whatever he said in favor of holding him closer, wrapping himself further around him until Obi-Wan has to force him away, if only for the sensation of having another body pressed against his own, something that's warm and heavy and  _ real. _

 

He shuts his eyes again, blinks them open unsteadily and he's being held away from it, from the warmth, his tunics being undone until they're slid off his shoulders and his arms are completely exposed, jagged, red lines marring the flesh and blood soaking down the inside of pale skin in rivulets. The younger man gasps, attempting to wrench his arms away, hissing out a swift, “I'm  _ fine,”  _ to Obi-Wan. It sounds stubborn, and nearly puerile, but it's nonetheless an attempt to make him stop-

 

_ I don't want him to stop.  _ The thought catches Anakin off guard, gazing up at his former master with eyes barely opened and still far too distant to really see anything, as he presses forward and briefly touches his lips against Obi-Wan’s. The Jedi isn't even sure he knows what it is-or what it's supposed to mean. Somehow, he knows he's been wishing he could do that for awhile.

 

“I'm…” Anakin trails off, extending his flesh arm to Obi-Wan as he searches the light eyes for anything other than shock, unsurprised when he finds nothing else. “I'm sorry, master.” 

 

He . . . had  _ not _ seen that coming. Not the sudden collapse of all of his defenses, and then the . . . the . . .  _ that _ .

 

Obi-wan isn’t sure if this means something is  _ desperately _ wrong, or if it’s just him, him and his own heart throwing itself against the lining of his chest.

 

His eyes are distracted easily enough. Not lingering on Anakin’s face, but on his body, caught by scattered red lines up and down his forearms, as well as some new ones, fresh, at the sides of his waist. It’s a lot of red; not so much that he’d be in real danger, but a lot nonetheless. He can hardly comprehend it. He’d . . . seen this, before. When he taught the older padawans, sometimes they’d come to him with marks on their wrists, or else show him somewhere else on their body. It was a shock every time, though he realizes he never . . . thought about it, like that. A shock. In the moment, he was simply unsure what to reply with, because his head buzzed with thoughts - it’s strange to realize, in the aftermath, that what he’d been feeling was  _ shock _ .

 

But now he’s seeing it again, and feeling it, right down to his bones. It’s clear that some of them are new, but some of them were old. Old, scarred over, the skin picked off by damaging hands. Obi-wan pulls in a deep breath as he opens his medkit and grabs a plain cloth, and some antiseptic gel to ease the pain and the bleeding.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Anakin,” is all he can say. “If you could hold steady, I’ll try to . . . to patch these up, best I can. I’m not as precise as a med droid, but I imagine it’s better than taking you to the med ward.”

 

“You're right about that. The medbay makes me feel sicker when I come out than when I go in,” Anakin says finally, acknowledging, letting Obi-Wan take his wrist in hand, gently, smearing the antiseptic over the surface before pressing a bacta patch against the skin, holding it there for a few brief moments.

 

Skywalker almost has to question if Obi-Wan is going to mention the kiss. He seems to be ignoring it, focused only on brushing fingers across his wounds and winding bandages around the marred skin whenever he finished, ignoring the steady, unwavering gaze of Anakin’s blue eyes on his face, only flinching as he reaches up to touch him lightly.

 

“Why not?” he asks finally, eyes matching Obi-Wan’s the second his master looks up, nervously, almost. “Why do you not allow yourself to feel? Sorrow… passion… happiness. Surely it isn't all bad, Obi-Wan. Or has the council tricked you into the same narrow-minded frame of reference they always cater to?”

 

_ Attachment isn't bad,  _ he says to himself, willing it through the force as he grips the other’s hand tightly and pulls himself closer to Obi-Wan, halfway in his lap at this point and still with hardly a care at all. Of course, Anakin Skywalker was never one to care about boundaries- it was like asking a gungan to be amiable. It wasn't going to happen.

 

“I'm in agony,” he confesses, softly, trying to get the Jedi master to look at him again, his hands shaking as they steady against Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “I feel like I'm dying… I'm terrified of what I can't help. Losing you, losing Snips… Padme. And it's killing me- tearing me apart. I can't stand it any longer… all I see when I close my eyes is death. I can't sleep… it's irrational and weak, I know. But it's all I can feel.”

 

Obi-wan has to believe him. Anakin’s so strung out, so pale, and even after collapsing in mid-flight he still looks so exhausted. Worse still is the number of lines he’d carved into himself, all of that hurt and hate and anger marked into his skin . . . it’s horrible, almost deranged. He wonders, if not for another time, if the Council was . . . was the one with  _ full _ responsibility over this, not just Anakin. Because though it might’ve been Anakin holding the blade, who brought him to that point? And who never bothered to notice?

 

Of course, he’s part of that, too - if Ahsoka hadn’t brought it up, of course he would’ve missed it. Perhaps noticed it later, as his Force energy began dwindling (the sign that made him notice the self-harm the  _ first _ time), but all the same, he hasn’t . . . been helpful, either. He’d been watching, silent. And when the opportunity came, he remained silent.

 

_ There’s no point in affording silence anymore _ .

 

It’s a sudden though, but he has to admit, it’s probably egged on by the discussions before . . . especially about Ahsoka, and the Kamenevas. And that emotion; the reason that Natasha stayed out of the council, and why her sisters would never become Council-approved Jedi - not if what their sister claimed was true. Yet, for all he would’ve suspected that his alumni - the eldest Kameneva - would’ve crumbled under the weight of the Force, without the Jedi Order to guide them in full . . .

 

She didn’t.

 

_ Maybe the Order isn’t as infallible and perfect as one would think _ .

 

It’s too far of a stretch all of a sudden, too much for now - and he’s wrapping up the last of the wounds, stunned to see the absence of red on Anakin’s skin, and it hurts. Hurts him to have to cover so much of his body, but it’s . . . it’s for the best, right?  _ Right _ ?

 

He sighs, and pulls Anakin into his arms, slowly, but patiently. He presses his face against his shoulder. Gives a quiet sigh.

 

All he can whisper is “I’m sorry”.

 

There’s some part of Anakin that almost can’t accept it- something that’s twisting away from the touch, away from Obi-Wan, scarred by memories of being left alone, made to take care of himself, to deal with his emotions so they didn’t control them. But dealing was far too difficult at this point, and he could hardly stomach the thought of keeping it in any longer. Even now he can feel it bleeding into the force… the self-loathing, the depression…

 

He wants desperately to shut his eyes again, and so he does, pressing his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder and struggling to reign in his frustration, his…  _ agony, betrayal, disgrace, self-loathing, aggression, enmity, everything dying, leaving, fading away in front of him, it burned-  _

  
“I know,” are the only words the young knight finds himself able to settle on, and then he’s turning away and pressing his face against Obi-Wan’s chest, pulling himself into as small a ball as he possibly can and curling against the man’s chest, breathing uneven and coarse. “I know it’s stupid, master. But… can you stay with me? I just…  _ kriff.  _ I want something… real to wake up to.”

 

The words are all it takes for Obi-Wan to lift his former padawan from the ground, pull him back into bed, and tucked the sheets up over his drained form.

 

He slips in next to him without question.


End file.
